


In the Eyes of the Gods

by AngelQueen



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alien Culture, Alien Rituals, Alternate Universe - Canon, Diplomacy, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 07:29:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelQueen/pseuds/AngelQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A diplomatic mission involving a spiritual race called the Brenali leads to a revelation for Pike and Kirk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Eyes of the Gods

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for [2012's happy_trekmas ficathon](http://happy-trekmas.livejournal.com/) and then completely forgot to post it here!
> 
> Written before STID, of course, so that makes it AU.

The Brenali are as hospitable as they are mystical. Their belief in communal living has led them to provide just one room for both Chris and Jim to stay in, a room that feels more like a sweat lodge that some Native Americans still utilize in their rituals. Only without the sweating, of course. The room is warm from the crackling fire, but by no means uncomfortable.

There is only one bed in the room, though it’s certainly large enough for both of them. Chris settles himself on one side, trying not to show just how relieved his back is to finally be able to relax. He rolls his eyes but otherwise ignores Jim’s smirk as he strips down to his boxers and undershirt before laying down himself. “You know,” Jim says teasingly, “most people are usually a bit more enthused when they’re sharing a bed with me.”

Chris snorts and shuts his eyes, if only to stave off the temptation to do more than lay beside the other man. “By most people, you mean ‘not Spock’?”

It might have been a cruel thing to say, if this were someone else, but Jim doesn’t take offense. Instead, he just laughs. “Oh, I’m sure he enjoyed it, he just couldn’t let on. Uhura would’ve killed both of us.” He’s joking, of course. Though most captains might balk at a romantic liaison between two of their senior staff, Jim, as always, plays against convention. As long as it doesn’t interfere with their ability to discharge their duties, he will not move against it in any form.

However, Chris has fielded more than one comm from Spock since the _Enterprise_ began her five-year mission. Spock is still convinced that James T. Kirk is at least ten cards short of a full deck, or whatever the Vulcan equivalent of that statement is, even if he is becoming used to the fact that this particularbehavior is what makes Jim such a brilliant leader. His ability to think so far outside of the box that he barely deigns to acknowledge that the box actually _exists_ has saved his ship, his crew, and indeed the entire _Federation_ , on more than one occasion. It works, even if it is the height of illogic, and it baffles Spock to no end.

He says none of this out loud, though. Instead, he says only, “Go to sleep, Kirk. You’ll need as much rest as you can get for tomorrow.”

* * *

The transporter room practically _sparkles_ , is the first thing Chris notices when the twinkle of the transporter beam fades away. There’s no hint of smoke damage, no scars from exploding consoles or phaser fire. It’s a bit surprising, given the amount of trouble that the _Enterprise_ is reported to have gotten into since she launched on her shakedown cruise after the _Narada_ crisis, three years ago. Either the room has been very lucky to not have suffered any major damage, or the ship’s janitorial crew has been more than pulling their weight on this trip.

Of course, looking at the grinning, beaming faces of Jim Kirk and his senior staff, Chris might be inclined to believe the latter. He’s willing to bet that the entire ship is gleaming like a jewel. Even Spock looks happier than normal, a tiny hint of emotion slipping past that fierce Vulcan control.

“Admiral Pike, sir,” Jim says, snapping to attention. His staff follows his lead. “Welcome back aboard the _Enterprise_.”

Chris nods, allows himself a faint smile as he steps carefully off of the transporter pad, using his cane as little as possible. Much as he doesn’t like to admit it, he’s showing off, letting them – but especially McCoy, who has kept abreast of Chris’ progress over the past three years – see how much he’s improved. He’ll never captain a starship again, but given the pessimistic outlook of some of his physicians after they’d cut out the Centaurian slug, the fact that he walks as well as he does now has been considered something of a medical miracle. 

“It’s good to be back, thank you, Captain,” he replies as he reaches out to meet Jim’s outstretched hand. As skin brushes skin, Chris can feel the electric charge that surges through him, though he is careful to keep any indication of it from his face. Jim Kirk is like lightning – bright, intense, and deadly under certain circumstances – and Chris’ attraction to the younger man is no different. He’s learned to live with it.

Chris turns then and makes a point to greet and speak with the rest of the senior staff. This earns him solemn but heartfelt nods from Spock and Lieutenant Sulu, a kind, confident smile from Lieutenant Uhura, a smirk from McCoy, a delighted grin from Commander Scott, and a blush from Ensign Chekov. 

An eclectic group, even after three years of being in the black, honing their skills against the grindstone of the galaxy, but they’re still considered one of the best up-and-coming crews in the ‘fleet. 

Chris can’t help but feel a bit smug about it. Jim may have been the one to drag them all out into the black, but Chris is the one who first put them all together. Well, most of them. Spock pulled Uhura onboard, and Jim dredged Scott up from _somewhere_ , but the rest? He picked them. Even Jim was slated to be a part of Chris’ crew before the _Kobayashi Maru_ incident.

He doesn’t say anything about that, though, and just lets Jim lead the way to the briefing room. Just as Chris suspected, the corridors gleam white as snow under the harsh light. Clearly, someone has prepared for his arrival, and the _Enterprise_ shines like she’s brand new again. Just for him.

Chris is sentimental enough to appreciate the gesture, as well as the fact that the faces of various crew members they pass light up when they see him. Many of them are veterans of the _Narada_ disaster, and remember him as their commanding officer, however brief his tenure was.

* * *

Chris lies in the bed for some time, but he doesn’t sleep, and neither does Jim, if his uneven breathing is any indication. Still, neither of them says anything, each choosing the dubious solace of their own thoughts.

He can hear the drumbeats going on outside of his and Jim’s room, can hear the Brenali chanting. It’s their Ritual of Remembrance that they’re going through tonight, aceremony to honor all that came before – people, animals, even a way of life. Tomorrow, it will be the Ritual of Change, where Chris and Jim’s participation will be necessary as the representatives of the Federation. For now, though, he should be resting. The Brenali love their rituals, and the Ritual of Change is going to be a long one. He’ll need all of the sleep he can get.

And yet, like some love-struck teenager, all he can think of is Jim lying next to him.

Well, that and the strange incense, whose aroma has grown even stronger the more time passes. It’s a strange one, a mixture of cinnamon, maple, and… coconut? Chris has gone through many of the Brenali’s rituals in the past, but none of them ever involved such a scent.

Plus, the room feels like it’s getting warmer. He hadn’t thought that the fire was that strong.

* * *

The briefing room has seen some changes since Chris last saw it. When he’d last seen it, before Vulcan’s final distress call, it had been empty of everything except for the large conference table and matching chairs. Now, the room contains not just the table and chairs, but also various curios from the ship’s travels, mainly gifts from the species the crew had encountered. There is a large potted plant in the corner, for instance, which cycled through various colors. Chris watched it curiously as it shifted from green to a vibrant red.

Jim notices his interest and shrugs. “The science department has been studying it for over two years and they _still_ can’t figure out how it does that.”

Chris nods and notes the sour look Sulu shoots the plant. The lieutenant has a second specialty in addition to piloting starships better than anyone in the fleet, he suddenly recalls – xenobotany. He isn’t sure, but he thinks even Spock is glaring at the offending shrub.

As they approach the table, Chris hesitates. His first instinct is to sit at the head of the table, but he reminds himself – for the twentieth time since the Admiralty sent him on this mission – that it’s _Jim’s_ ship, _Jim’s_ table, _Jim’s_ chair —

Until, that is, Jim takes the decision out of his hands by sitting down in the chair directly to the right of the chair at the head. Chris stares at him, eyebrow raised, but the younger man just smiles. It’s not one of those infamous Kirk smirks that he’s seen so many times since that night in the Shipyard Bar, but something softer, almost understanding. “Have a seat, sir,” Jim says quietly as the rest of the senior staff seat themselves accordingly, leaving the chair the only one left for Chris.

With no other alternative present, he slowly sits down and confronts the expectant faces around him. “As you are all likely aware of,” Chris begins, “the Federation’s diplomatic corps has been working overtime the past few years, reassuring our member worlds of the Federation’s stability, playing nice with the other major powers of the quadrant, and also trying to induce other worlds to join us. They’ve actually had some success, believe it or not,” he says wryly, which gains him a few small snorts of amusement. The crew has been out in the black long enough to have dealt with members of the diplomatic service – a highly-strung bunch, to say the least, who seem to live to drive Starfleet crews out of their minds. 

“One of these most recent successes has been with a race called the Brenali,” Chris continues.

* * *

The room is full of ghosts. Chris has never been prone to fanciful thoughts, to falling back onto the supernatural in the face of things he cannot explain. He’s a scientist, in his own way, after all. He may not go out and observe and catalog phenomena like Spock, or create new ways to patch half-dead people back together again like Phil Boyce or Leonard McCoy, but a lifetime with Starfleet has seen to it that he doesn’t think of the mystical first and the scientific later.

For all that, though, Chris has no doubt that the room, hazy from the strange incense that sits near the fireplace, is full of people other than Jim and himself. He wonders briefly why the thought doesn’t fill him with alarm, like it probably should. He and his companion, who now lies curled along Chris’ side, should be the only ones here. 

“We’re not alone, are we?” Jim murmurs, echoing Chris’ very thoughts. Of course, those thoughts are being ruthlessly chased away by the puffs of Jim’s breath gusting on Chris’ ear.

“No.” It is Chris’ voice, but it doesn’t entirely feel like he was in full control of his vocal chords. 

On the other hand, he is in full control when he shifts onto his side and leans toward Jim, pushing him back so he lies flat on his back with Chris on top of him. He can feel _something_ encouraging him, but he does it of his own volition.

He kisses Jim of his own volition too. Chris is also pretty sure that Jim returns it willingly, if his enthusiasm is anything to go by.

* * *

“First contact was made with the Brenali on stardate 2251.45, by the _U.S.S. Yorktown_ ,” Chris informs the others. “It was one of my last missions as captain of that vessel before I returned to Earth to oversee the _Enterprise’s_ construction and begin working for Starfleet’s recruitment office.”

“And started recruiting half the people in this room,” Jim mutters, leaning back in his chair and smirking. 

Chris raises an eyebrow. “True. I know talent when I see it,” he replies. “Just like I know sheer pigheaded stubbornness too.” That draws a smothered chuckle from Uhura. Jim maturely sticks his tongue out at her.

Chris rolls his eyes and continues. “It has taken several years of delicate negotiations, but the Brenali have finally agreed to join the Federation as a full-fledged member. The ceremonies will take place in three days, and the _Enterprise_ is to represent the Federation.” When they nod, they also exchange glances, so he hastens to add, “My presence is not a reflection on you and your ability to handle such a mission. The Brenali requested my presence, and the Federation is of a mind to indulge them.”

“The Brenali are an elusive people,” Spock says. “Despite ten years of contact, there is little about them in the database. It should prove to be an excellent opportunity to learn more of their culture.”

“They’re not ones who flaunt technology, or incorporate it overly much into their daily lives,” Chris states. “They achieved warp drive around the same time Earth did, but you’d think that they were a pre-warp civilization given their chosen method of living. Don’t underestimate them or their understanding.” That had happened during the _Yorktown’s_ first contact mission and it had proved quite embarrassing for everyone involved, including Chris himself. Lieutenant Gage had been reassigned after that.

“Some of the Native American tribes on Earth prefer to live without focusing on technology,” Jim says, his expression thoughtful. “Should be interesting to see how similar the Brenali might be to them.”

* * *

In the back of Chris’ mind, he and Jim are many people throughout the night.

He is Sinoval, leader of the Brenali during the Time of Advancement, when warp drive was first discovered. Jim is Palis, the inventor of their first warp engine. Sinoval has been fascinated by Palis for many years, enjoying the man’s enthusiasm for his craft, though he likes best when they lay together out under the stars that are now suddenly within their people’s reach.

He is Melen, a warrior of the Brenali. Jim is Cordad, his shield-mate. They fight for the honor and integrity of their people, side-by-side. Only death has the power to part them. No father, no mother, no wife may come between either of them.

He is Yans. Jim is Ord.

He is Hollic. Jim is Rathal.

Graj. Tradir.

Waric. Loran.

Sanchet. Dorid.

They are so many people, but only in the buzz of their subconscious. In their conscious minds, they are Chris and Jim, finally acting on the instincts and feelings they’ve been suppressing for years.

Chris brushes his lips over every part of Jim’s skin that he can find, his lips, his neck, his chest, everywhere. Jim’s hands, similarly, feel like they’re everywhere on Chris’ body, fingers running through his hair, gripping his back and pressing their bodies even closer together. Neither one can get enough of each other.

Chris breathes in Jim’s scent and silently wonders how, wonders why he held back so long. 

“ _Mine_ ,” he hisses as he bites Jim’s shoulder gently, and the word is echoed by dozens others who are there and yet not.

He doesn’t have to be a telepath to know that the word is also on Jim’s thoughts too. It’s right there, in his eyes, that possessive glint that Chris has only ever seen there when the younger man looks at the ship they both love.

* * *

The Brenali are waiting when Chris and Jim beam down with the rest of the away team. Chris takes in the group sent to meet them, and is surprised to see that he recognizes many of them. It has been ten years, after all. People age, and yet many of the people he remembers have hardly changed at all in the intervening years.

The leader of the group steps forward, his strong arms held out in the traditional greeting of the Brenali. He’s just one of many that Chris remembers from his previous visit. Yolat is tall and tan, as is normal for his people. He clads himself in the homespun clothing that is also customary of the Brenali.

“Greetings, Christopher,” Yolat says, smiling. “We knew you would return. You are most welcome.”

“Greetings, Yolat,” Chris replies. He doesn’t think much on the other man’s claim of knowing of his return to the Brenali’s home world. They did request his presence via the diplomats, after all. “It is an honor to see you again.” He turns then, gesturing to Jim, who waits patiently. “Allow me to introduce James T. Kirk, Captain of the _U.S.S. Enterprise_.”

Jim’s reputation is still predominantly that of a brash, boisterous young man, but Chris knows that even if the Academy didn’t hammer diplomacy into his head, a few years in the black certainly has. His behavior is perfectly correct as he addresses Yolat and his people.

There is a brief moment of silence as the Brenali take in Jim. Chris notes that one of the Brenali, a young girl that he hasn’t met, watches both him and Jim closely. Her eyes are a violet, and almost feline in their intensity as they dart between them. Then, suddenly, a delighted smile blooms on her lips. She darts forward to Yolat and whispers something in his ear. Yolat bends to listen to her words, and his eyes widen a moment later. His gaze focuses on Chris and Jim, much as the girl’s did, and then he too smiles, his expression full of wonder.

No one explains the strange exchange until later, at the evening meal.

* * *

The room has begun to feel like a sauna now, but Chris hardly notices. All he can focus on is Jim. Jim, who pants and writhes beneath him. Jim, whose smile is pure sin as he reaches up to draw Chris down into a kiss. Jim, who has somehow burrowed his way under Chris’ skin these past years and remains stubbornly lodged there.

Not that Chris wants to extricate him or anything.

The heat is all-encompassing, both the heat of the room and the heat that has steadily grown between them. 

“Fuck, Chris,” Jim hisses, his skin slick with sweat. He glares up at him. “Pay _attention_.”

Chris stares down at him, and then smirks. He wants him to pay attention, does he? Well, far be it from him to say no to that kind of request. He slips a hand between them, seeking, brushing, stroking, and Jim’s body jerks in response. Chris thrusts slow and deep, timing those thrusts to coincide with his strokes. The pace is steady, and he can see the frustration, the lust raging in the other man’s eyes.

Sometime later – a minute or ten minutes, Chris has no idea – Jim finally comes with a shattering cry, his body tightening like a bowstring. A few more thrusts and Chris follows, collapsing in a haze of satisfaction.

They are alone in the room again, the ghosts having fled, and Chris is more than fine with that. This moment, even if it turns out to be the only one of its kind, should be uniquely theirs.

* * *

The meal could almost be like a feast of days gone by. Though the Brenali live simply, they still know how to throw a party to impress their guests. The food is impeccably cooked, the drinks are suitably alcoholic, and the air is made warm by the fires throughout the area.

Jim is what Chris’ mother would call a social butterfly, and he’s attracted quite a crowd of people as he regales them with stories of the _Enterprise’s_ adventures. Chris keeps one eye on him while his ears are on the conversation he’s having with Yolat and several other Brenali officials. Eventually, though, those officials drift away, and Chris is left alone with Yolat.

“You have done well for yourself, my old friend,” Yolat comments as he sips on his drink.

Chris nods. “Thank you, I suppose I have.” He’s the youngest man to ever make Admiral, and even though it’s a rank he never wanted, it’s still an achievement. It may have been a sop, some kind of consolation for having to hand the _Enterprise_ over to Jim, but Chris has made a niche for himself in the Admiralty, even if it mostly consists of being a pain in the asses of his fellow admirals. Far too many of them have forgotten what it is like to be out in the black, if they were ever out there at all. Men like Collins, like McDonald, are armchair admirals, who earned their stars through other means than being starship captains. If Chris can give them some perspective, then at least he’ll be doing something useful – like keeping them from inciting Jim to do something stupid out of sheer frustration.

Yolat nods in Jim’s direction. “Your shield-mate seems is good for you.”

Chris stares at the other man, now curious. “Shield-mate?”

He nods. “Your Captain Kirk – he is your shield-mate, yes? You have fought side-by-side in battle, risked your lives for each other? It is obvious you share a deep bond, Christopher.”

Chris raises an eyebrow. Has someone in the diplomatic corps been telling stories again? It’s public knowledge that Jim risked his life and endured two separate beatings on the _Narada_ in order to get to Chris to pull him off the damn ship before Spock crippled it. It’s equally well-known that Chris, despite being weakened and suffering spinal damage, was able to shoot two Romulans about to kill the younger man while he worked to free him. Still, the Brenali aren’t exactly the type to read the gossip rags.

“Captain Kirk and I are friends,” is all he says out loud, though.

Yolat just smiles. “In our history, shield-mates were among the greatest heroes of our people. We were once especially warlike, and the shield-mates were often the ones who led our armies into battle. They were also the ones who brokered peace, when the time for fighting passed.” He gazes at Chris intently. “They were always aware of each other, and kept one another close,” he says pointedly. Clearly, Yolat must have noticed Chris keeping an eye on Jim throughout the evening.

Chris honestly doesn’t know what to say. He’d had the term shield-mate explained to him during his first visit among the Brenali, when one of them, a girl named Gena, had thought that he and Number One might have been shield-mates, so he knew that there was far more to it than what Yolat was saying. Shield-mates fought wars and made peace, but it was more than that. Brenali shield-mates were often also lovers, forsaking any other kind of spouse and remaining devoted to each other all their lives. There were even examples of one shield-mate taking their own life when the other died. 

“Yolat,” he says hesitantly, not wanting to give the other man the wrong impression. Jim and he are friends, and yes, Chris admits that he’s attracted to the younger man, but —

Yolat holds up his hand, cutting off both his thoughts and any words he might have said. “You need not explain, Christopher. Such things often go unsaid among us, but we know shield-mates when we see them.” A pleased expression crosses Yolat’s face. “It has been several generations since we have had shield-mates among us. I suspect that is why your Captain Kirk has drawn such attention.”

Chris sighs quietly and looks again in Jim’s direction. He is indeed still surrounded by over a dozen people, and is thriving on the attention. 

Soon, the meal comes to an end and one of the Brenali offers to escort him and Jim to the room that has been set aside for them. The Brenali have a ritual to undergo tonight, a prelude to the one that will come tomorrow. Chris agrees, and as they follow their escort, he is highly aware of Jim’s shoulder brushing his as they walk away from the rest of the Brenali. Every time they touch, a spark shoots through Chris’ body.

He sighs inwardly. It’s going to be a long night.


End file.
